An Unexpected Trip

I went on an unexpected trip this week.  I didn't take Jet Blue or Delta, but rather a magic carpet piloted by a small green leather book.

I am constantly amazed by the unexpected turns in our seemingly routine lives.  My friend, Alice, is relocating, and as we lunched the other afternoon, she gave me some sage advice.  "It is never to soon to start downsizing, Anne.  You will be amazed by what you find, and what you should have discarded years ago."

I finished my coffee, but her words rang in my ears long after we left the restaurant.  And the next morning I took her advice, and of course, she was right.

I began with one large black plastic bag and the bottom drawer of the large dresser in the upstairs bedroom.  That filled quickly with scarves that my Mother would have been embarrassed to see me wear and about six tattered empty manila envelopes that I have no idea why I had saved.

Feeling quite self-righteous, I then retrieved another plastic bag and began emptying the middle drawer of the dresser.  And there I found the treasure trove.

It was a small green leather book dated 1943.  My first thought when I opened it was dismay because all of the writing had been done in pencil.  Later when I discussed this with my daughter, she suggested ball point pens were not available then, and fountain pens were too messy for a child to use in a bedroom.  I think she was right because I soon realized the scribbling's were all mine, and I had completed each entry of that memorable year before I turned out my bedroom light and went to sleep.

The other surprise was that I had totally forgotten about the diary written the year I was 12.  So may of the facts, impressions, feelings and fear had been buried deeply into my subconscious.  Mostly about the war.

My children often queried me about NYC during the years WWII raged.  I have always denied remembering any of it.  Yet this diary tells quite a different story.  It seemingly, and I am quite certain, accurately records blackouts as a routine event.  There are more than a few pages with no entry other than "Blackout tonight.  Unable to write."  And there were numerous air raid drills, not only in the dark of night, but in class during the day.  I wonder where did we go for shelter?  There weren't many possibilities then in the heart of the city.

Have I forgotten because I was afraid?  I don't know.  It is almost as if I was reading something written by another.

There are many sentences that brought smiles and a few happy tears back.  I doubt if there were more than one or two Sundays recorded in the small green book when Dad did not take both me and my younger Sister somewhere.  Often it was the Park or a Matinee at the Roxy Theatre.  During the hot days of summer, we went swimming either at Brighton Beach or Sunnyside Pool in Astoria.  The occasional weekends when we did not have such excursions were due to illness or Dad's work schedule.

Something else I had forgotten or hidden in my memory bank was the fact that due to the War and its economic changes, Dad was unemployed for a while.  1943 was also the year my Mother returned to work.  I have often cited that as a choice or a woman's wish for a career rather than one of economic necessity.  Perhaps that was how she presented it to her two daughters. The diary records mostly facts rather than impressions.  I do so wish I had used either a darker lead or perhaps a sharper pencil.

Pandora's Box is something I also thought about midway while reading my long forgotten memories.  I realized the independence my Sister and I were taught at such an early age, and perhaps a subtle lesson in responsibility also.  At least twice a week my responsibility  was to take Ellen to the dentist. We lived on 58th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues, and the family dentist, Dr. Chatowitz, had his office across from Madison Square Garden, then located on 50th Street and 8th Avenue.  We walked after school late in the afternoon when twilight was approaching, and were never intimidated or felt fear.  My obligation was to take care of her safety, and Ellen's was to respect my authority.  Subtle lessons, but ones entrenched in both our memories as we discussed the diary yesterday.

I would like to pretend that my discovery had only a clinical reaction, but that would be a falsehood.  I cannot properly record the emotions it has evoked.  There are mentions of so many loved ones, not only the beloved close family, but those who lived on the fringes of our daily lives, and who all left my world so long ago.  There is immense gratitude I feel today for the many miniscule kindnesses that I wonder if I ever appreciated then......the trips for ice cream, to the theatre, when finances were apparently quite difficult, but mostly, the blanket of reassurance that seemed to veil both my Sister and I in our own complacent childhood.  Memories of a tenement flat with seemingly elastic walls where there was always room for cousins and friends who needed shelter or comfort.

I had such a lovely trip, and perhaps it is a good thing I didn't have that fountain pen.  I might have spilled some ink on a few of the pages, and I wouldn't have been able to relive all of the beautiful, poignant, and yes, bittersweet memories of once upon a time yesterday.